


Daemons of the West

by Todesengel



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 21:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17815847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: In which there are daemons, but things don't change.





	Daemons of the West

1\. Nathan and Bess

Best they can figure, Bess settles sometime in '63. Nathan reckons it happened around the time Vicksburg fell, when they'd helped Doc Murphy take off what remained of Billy Best's left leg. Bess thinks it must've happened earlier, for she can't remember changing forms after December, and Billy didn't lose that leg until March.

Either way Nathan's just glad it finally happened; 24 was an awfully old age to settle, and he'd grown tired of the sideways looks he'd been getting. Still he hadn't anticipated that when Bess settled she'd be a big, black dog. 

"It suits her," Jezebel says as she nibbles on one of Bess's floppy ears. "You are very protective, after all."

"I suppose," Nathan says, and he sees Jezebel's point. Still, he ain't never thought of himself as a dog kind of a person – always reckoned he was too stubborn for that, and he'd fought hard to be free from obedience. But he supposes he's changed some from the angry boy running in the night – reckons, too, that the war and Doc Murphy have given him clarity he didn't know he needed. It makes him wonder, though, what Bess might've been if he'd been born free and settled young like they should have done – if she'd have been the bear she so clearly wished she could have been, or if not even freedom could have given them that.

"Could be worse," Bess says, and he knows she's thinking rather wistfully of the otter she'd been up in Canada. "Could've been a fish."

"Well, at least we know," Nathan says, because it had been gnawing at his heart that he had such an unsettled soul. 

Bess smiles a big, canine smile and leans against his leg. "Yeah. We do."

 

2\. Buck and Clarabell

Clara settles when they're twelve, which is awfully early as far as these things go. She does it without much fanfare – one day she decides to be a big, yellow dog, and she just never stops. Buck knew right away, of course – he could feel the rightness flowing between them, the minute she decided that this was who she'd always meant to be – and he can't quite understand the fuss the other parlor ladies make when they finally figure it out.

"Now don't go thinking this makes you grown up," his mama says. "Just 'cause you're sure of who you are don't mean you're old enough to know everything."

"I know," Buck says. He buries his hands in Clarabell's ruff, and she leans heavily into the touch. 

"And you, young miss," his mother says, crouching down to look into Clarabell's big, amber eyes. "I don't want to hear another word about you getting touched. It ain't right, even if you think you're old enough to settle."

"But ma!" they both whine, shocked at the unfairness of it all – why shouldn't Clarabell get pet, when they're so willing to be touched? Why should this taboo be adhered to, when his ma and all the other girls broke so many others?

"No buts," his mother says.

"It's all right," Clarabell whispers to him when his mother leaves. "When we get older, we can make the rules."

"Sure we will," Buck whispers back, with all the confidence a boy who's always known who he is. 

 

3\. Chris and Prudence

Prudence changes after the fire – not that Chris notices at first, consumed as he is by both grief and the bottle. 

Still, when he finally does realize the change, he's not all that surprised. He'd always thought Prudence wasn't quite what she ought to have been – big and scarred though she was, she'd still been just a cat, something that could be tamed. After the fire, she's still cat shaped, but so much bigger, so much longer, and it's not until he's staring at her from across the campfire that he realizes she's become a bobcat – fierce and untamable and speckled with sooty spots. 

"Oh," he says as she stares at him, her gaze dark and unwavering; it feels judgmental, and for a moment he can only feel a nasty resentment wash over him, for who is she to judge his drinking? At least he's still himself, at least he hasn't changed – but that's a lie, because she is him, and he knows that her change is nothing more than a reflection of the fundamental shift inside him. 

His family's dead, and his daemon's changed. 

Chris lifts the bottle and drinks deep.

 

4\. Ezra and Heloise

At five, Ezra's only old enough to understand that no matter how hard she tries, Heloise will never be able to mimic the brilliant plumage of his mother's daemon. It's a cruel trick, he thinks, for he covets Francois's plumage like only a small child can, and the dull, drab colors that cloak Heloise when she turns into a peahen or a hummingbird or a robin leave him petulant and resentful. 

"I wish you were a boy," he tells Heloise one day as she tries to please his heart once more by turning into a peach-headed lovebird while they're watching Maude primp and pretty herself up for Mr. Delacourt. He says it as a whim, a passing thought, and it's therefore a shock when Maude stops dabbing at her lips and turns on him in an absolute fury. 

"Don't you dare say that," she says to him, holding onto his arm so tight that he yelps in pain. 

"Stop!" Heloise barks, dropping to the floor as a floppy-eared dog. She bares her teeth and growls, but she can do no more without touching Maude and they know she won't do that.

"Quiet, child," Francois says, pulling her under one of his blue-green wings. "Didn't you hear what he said?"

Maude nods in approval, then digs her fingers into Ezra's arm, gripping him hard enough to make him cry. "I am not raising a pervert, Ezra. I don't care what anyone else tells you, we are respectable people."

"Mama, it hurts," he whimpers, unsure why she's so mad. 

"Men do not have boy daemons," she says. "It's unnatural, and you run far away from any man you meet that has one."

"I don't really want a boy," he lies, for he still doesn't understand – Maude's last gentleman caller had had a pretty whippet daemon and she'd been terrible to them; he doesn't see why it would have been worse if the horrid thing had been a boy. "I just want a pretty daemon like you."

"Oh Ezra," she sighs, and her grip eases on his arm. He snatches it away and cradles it to his chest, hurt more by the betrayal than anything else; Heloise darts towards him and whines until he scoops her up, her body shrinking in on itself until it fits comfortably in his grasp. 

"There's more to a daemon than its looks," Maude says. "But if that's all you care about..." 

She stands and smoothes the skirt of her dress. The train trails behind her with the same long, sweeping movements as Francois's tail as she walks to her writing desk. Ezra watches her with uncertain eyes, Heloise clasped to his chest, her rabbit-y whiskers tickling his chin. She searches among the correspondence before finally picking up a small glass-fronted box.

"Here," she says as she carries it over. "Lord knows why the man thought this a proper courting gift, but I suppose it does have its purpose."

Ezra peers in cautiously, and for a moment he thinks his mother's given him a box of jewels, for the things inside shine and gleam like his mother's best broaches. After a moment, though, he sees beyond the glitter to see that the things inside are bugs – glimmering, iridescent things that shift in the light like a hummingbird's wings, their bodies neatly arrayed and labeled, held firm to the case's cotton batting by a sharp pin.

"Oh," he says, eyes wide and small hurts forgotten as he reaches for the case.

"There, you see?" Maude says briskly. "Heloise could be any one of these. You must use your imagination, Ezra." She runs her fingers through his hair and kisses his forehead. "Now be good for Mrs. Williams. No fussing when she puts you to bed."

"Yes Mama," he says, distracted by his new prize. Heloise peers with him, and he can feel her excitement thrumming beneath his joy.

"They're so shiny," she whispers to him, as she changes into a beetle with a pearlescent shell. 

"You're gorgeous," he whispers back, and she buzzes with pleasure. He beams at her, thrilled beyond measure, even as his mother sighs. 

(When she settles as a yellow jacket when they're sixteen, Ezra does not think back onto that night. It's not the Standish way to dwell in the past, after all – not when there are so many fools who must be parted from their gold.)

 

5\. Vin and Jaeger

The man died badly, but that's the only thing Vin can say for sure. The heat and scavengers have gotten to him, and though Vin can see he's been scalped, he ain't sure if that happened before or after he was shot in the face. 

It's a bad death, and Vin reckons it's a fitting end for Eli Joe, who was a bad man, but there's something about the scene that bothers him. Maybe it's the way he's sitting against the trunk of a stunted tree, all peaceful-like even with the way the body's been picked at by buzzards and coyotes. Or maybe it's the way there ain't nothing around – no gear, no horse, no long-dead sign of fire – like someone's already come by and picked him clean; except not clean enough, because the dead man's still holding that cut down rifle everyone knows Eli Joe uses, and its still wearing that big silver belt buckle. Vin knows that some folk don't like to truck with dead bodies, but he reckons any folk who'd take a dead man's bedding wouldn’t be too squeamish about also taking the gun and the buckle. Gotta be reason those things was left, and Vin ain't sure he wants to give voice to what he's thinking.

"Whole thing stinks," Jaeger mutters, and Vin nods as he stands up from where he's crouched by the dead man's side.

"Reckon it's him?" Vin asks.

Jaeger sneezes and wrinkles his nose. "Damned if I know. Smells like dead and gunpowder to me. Maybe cloves? Anyone say anything about him chewing cloves?"

"Hell if I know," Vin says. He prods the body with the toe of his boot and watches the flies buzz up in an angry cloud before resettling on the corpse. "Ain't gonna be fun to bring this in. You sure you can't tell?"

Jaeger shrugs and scratches at his muzzle. "Scent leads here, but there's too much death. I can barely smell you over it." He chuffs out a breath and circles the corpse, then shakes his head. "I got what I got."

"Bet you'd've gotten more if you was a bloodhound," Vin mutters. His daemon bares his teeth and snaps at him and Vin grins. 

"Should've been a bounty hunter 'fore I settled then," Jaeger says. "Reckon you should just be glad I got any kind of nose." He snaps at Vin again, then sits back on his haunches and grins his sly, coyote grin. "You know, I could've been a sheep."

"Would've been more useful if you had been." Vin huffs out a sigh and rocks back on his heels. Whole damn thing don't sit right, but the dead man's wearing Eli Joe's belt, and he's got Joe's boots, and he's got Joe's gun. "Shit. Reckon we should just take him back and let the law settle things."

Jaeger whines and leans against Vin's leg. "I don't like it. Whole thing stinks worse than it should."

"Got all his things, don't it? Reckon he had a falling out with his crew and they scrammed." Vin prods the body again, though he don't expect it to suddenly give up its secrets. "Anyway, ain't no way this fella was up to anything good."

Jaeger sighs and shakes his head. "Don't know why you bother. Ain't like they gonna accept us just 'cause you bring him in."

"I know that," Vin says, annoyed. "Ain't ever said that's why I'm doing this. Money's good, and we need it – 'sides, ain't no money easier than the bounty on a dead man. And I ain't gonna turn my back on a bit of luck."

"When've we ever been lucky?" Jaeger bares his teeth at the corpse again. "Tastes like bad medicine, Vin."

"Aw lighten up, Jay. If it ain't him, it ain't him, and we'll keep on looking," Vin says as he heads back to his horse to grab the rope and spare blankets. "Anyway, what's the worst that could happen?"

 

6\. Josiah and Jezebel

"Life," Josiah tells her, "is but a series of befores and afters."

"Hmm," Jezebel says, chewing on her cud. "While true, it's not exactly profound."

"I wasn't going for profundity," Josiah says mildly. "I was merely making an observation."

"You never just observe." Jezebel burps a grassy breath and shakes her head. "So what are we now before? Or have we reached an after?"

"I suppose it's both," Josiah says. He settles a bit more firmly against the rough stone wall of the abandoned church. "Before us lies the untamed territory. And behind us…"

He trails off, unable to articulate all the 'afters' they have passed through: after India, after Hannah, after the war, after faith – he can't name which of those was the true turning point his life. Or perhaps it stretches even further back, to the singular event of his mother's passing; or even further, to an unremarkable day in his childhood, where the choice of left instead of right was what ultimately led him here – a real life Sysiphus, caught in a never-ending struggle of fruitless endeavor, though his task is no simple labor of rolling a ball up a hill, but to be forever building and tearing down the ruined symbols of a god.

Jezebel butts his shoulder with her head, hitting him hard enough with her horns to shake him from his melancholy thoughts. "Before don't sound so bad." 

She butts him again, softer this time, and Josiah wonders if perhaps his whole life should be framed as before she settled and after she became a goat.

"Indeed it does not." He grins at her and rubs the fur around her horns. "As Thoreau has said, we must live in our present, and presently we shall finish this church."

"I think a better use of our present would be to see what Nathan's up to," Jezebel says. "It's been a while, and you know he'd be lost without us to guide him."

"I do believe you're right," Josiah says, standing. He pats the broken wall. "I suppose this can wait until later. I doubt that God will mind."

 

7\. JD and Brigid

Truth be told, JD's a little nervous as he sits on the horse and waits for the group of men to come out of the livery. He knows he can ride as well as any man born, but he ain't never been in a real gun fight. Still, he knows he's got what it takes to make it out here – all he needs is a chance to show them.

"Gotta make a good impression," he tells Brigid as they wait. "Reckon they can pick and choose from the whole damn town."

"Got it, got it," Brigid barks, the stump of her tail wagging madly, the fur on her back bristling with excitement until she looks less like a terrier and more like an unginned cotton boll. "I ain't some dumb mutt, JD. I know what I gotta do."

"I know you know," he says. "But you remember what happened with Tommy O'Rouke."

"I know! I know! Ain't you ever gonna stop harping on that one? Ain't my fault—"

"Hush," he says, because he sees the group of men. He sets his heels to his horse and jumps the little fence that separates them, and he thinks it's going great until he sees the man with the moustache start to smile. 

"What?" he says, starting to bristle, because damn the man, JD knows he ain't done nothing wrong with his horse. 

"No, no," the mustached man says, bringing his hand to his face. "All damn impressive."

"Damn straight," Brigid barks, and JD looks down with fear in his heart, terrified of what she's doing by the horse's hooves. 

It ain't as bad as it could be, he supposes – ain't like the time with Tommy, where Brigid had rolled over and showed her belly as JD was trying to puff out his chest – but it ain't what you'd call impressive. Oh, he knows it takes skill for Brigid to stand on her back legs and hop around like that, but it don't make her look fierce or tough or equal to the daemons of these men – not even to the big yellow dog one, who hasn't stopped smiling. 

"Brigid, no!" JD cries. 

"What?! What?!" Brigid yelps, jumping up as high as she can as she does so, and of course that's when the damn horse spooks, rearing back and dumping him in the horse trough. 

"Looks like you can fly too," the mustached man says as they all ride past him – and they're all laughing now, the bastards. 

"I ain't—" JD splutters, but they're long gone, their laughter fading into the sound of their horses hoof beats as they ride away. JD swears and he'd've thrown his hat to the ground if he hadn't lost it as he fell

"Aww JD," Brigid says, licking his face, tail still wagging madly. "I don't think it went that bad."

JD stares at his daemon for a long, hard minute, before he gets up with a squelch and stomps off after his horse.


End file.
